Of Brothers and Bugs
by Wysawyg
Summary: A simple case turns into trouble when a flu-stricken Dean fails to notice something wrong with his brother. Sick!Sam and some Sick!Dean


**Title: **Of Brothers and Bugs

**Author: **Wysawyg

**Summary: **A simple case turns into trouble when a flu-stricken Dean fails to notice something wrong with his brother.. Sick!Sam and some Sick!Dean.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Notes: **This was for the writing challenge with TraSan. Her wonderful take on the prompts can be found as 'Vampires Were People Too' on . Prompts listed at the end of this end.

Also major thanks to TraSan who did a wonderful beta on this piece.

"""""""

It reminded Dean of art galleries, the posh ones that had waiters coming around with trays of canapés and champagne. It was one of the unfortunate truths of hunting that it wasn't only poor people that got into trouble which meant every now and then Dean had to associate with the so-called upper echelon of society.

Anyway those galleries always had at least one painting which was primarily grey with just a couple of bright splashes of colour. It was that art that the socialites would crowd around, glowing about its use of colour and how it called to mind an early Monet and all that kind of bullshit. Dean just figured the artist was too cheap to get more than two colours.

That was Sam; Pasty grey with two fever-high spots of colour in his cheeks. He stirred restlessly as if he could feel Dean's eyes on him then he let out a low moan, bunching his fists up in the sheets and tugging them upwards. The illness playing havoc with Sam wasn't letting him off that easy as moments later, he was pushing the sheets down like the mere touch of cloth against skin was too much to bear.

"Easy, Sam," Dean murmured, dipping a face cloth into a basin, wringing it out then folding it onto Sam's forehead. Sam let out a hiss, the only time he had acknowledged Dean's existence so far, and twisted his head away from the wetness.

"Settle, it's okay. I'm here and it's gonna be okay." Dean wished to God he knew he was telling the truth.

""""""

_4__ hours earlier_

Dean ran. The relentless beat of his pursuer's footsteps behind him. He could hear them getting closer and closer and Dean tried to go faster but his legs felt like leaden weights. He was just a few paltry paces away when he felt it coming. It started as a feather tickle in the back of his throat then his whole diaphragm seized, a giant hand reaching in and squeezing him as his head tipped back, mouth opening wide before snapping forward with the force of expulsion.

"AAAAAAAAA-TCHOO."

A hand grasped Dean's shirt at the nape of his neck and yanked backwards, spinning him in the process to face an irate brother. "Dean! What are you doing out of bed?"

Dean's attempted response was lost to a daisy chain of sneezes.

Sam stared balefully at him from beneath sodden bangs, "I leave you alone for ten minutes to try and shower…"

Dean recoiled at that, "M'not a child." He sniffed vigorously, trying to draw back the snot clogging his nose. "I was sick, I'm better now hence I can leave the motel room without adult supervision."

"Dean," Sam said with the smug air of someone who had perfect verbal ammunition. "Where are your shoes?"

Dean glanced down. Oh, hey toes. He wiggled them up at himself. "Okay, so maybe some things are still a little hazy but that's probably just lack of food." Dean gestured towards the diner door, "See, I was trying to get food. That's sensible."

From the roll of Sam's eyes, he didn't quite agree. "Dean, I brought you back food. You left it in the box and didn't touch it."

Dean wrinkled his nose, "It was cold."

"It wasn't cold. I brought it piping hot straight from this very diner."

"It must've gotten cold on the way."

"It's a five minute walk. It defies the laws of physics for food to get cold that quickly."

"Well, it did," Dean protested. "Why don't you go investigate why the laws of physics are broken and I'll get some hot food?" Dean could almost see smoke start to come out of Sam's ears and he took a quick step backwards. "Look, Sam. I just want some hot food and some time around people that aren't you or that slightly skeevy motel clerk. I promise I'll go straight back to bed afterwards." Dean had never mastered the pleading gaze in the same way that Sam had but he gave it his best shot.

"Fine," Sam said. "But I'm staying with you and if you start to look dizzy or feverish, we're going straight back to the room."

"""""""""

_Now_

"So, fine. I wasn't in the best state of mind to notice what was going on with you. I mean, it's not like I didn't notice anything but I put it down to the usual sharing of illnesses. Anything you got, I got. Anything I got, you got. It was an easy assumption to make." Dean dipped the cloth into the water again and rung it out, placing it onto Sam's forehead.

When Sam's eyes briefly met his, Dean felt hope surge, until he realised that he had merely been a stopping point as the eyes rolled up further into his skull and too-long limbs started to flail. There was nothing for Dean to do except lean back and try to make sure Sam didn't fall off the bed whilst staying out of range. He didn't really want a twin-set of black eyes.

All too slowly the shudders turned to twitches and back down to shivers. Dean grabbed the corner and tucked it around Sam, smoothing it down around him. "Could you not do that again? I'm just asking as a big brother because honestly, there's only so much I can deal with right now."

Sam let out another moan and tried to twist onto his side. Dean pushed him flat again, pushing the cool cloth against his brow. He twisted his wrist to check his watch, it had barely been an hour thus far. The loitering traces of exhaustion from his recent illness threatened to drag him down but he staggered upwards, sloshing coffee into his mug and taking a gulp of the bitter liquid.

"Where was I?" He set the mug down at Sam's bedside, out of range should limbs start flailing again. "Right. I wasn't really paying enough attention but what happened in the diner really should have clued me in."

"""""""

_4 hours earlier_

Dean wished Sam hadn't pointed out his lack of footwear as now all he could focus on was just how cold his feet were, part of him was ready to suggest his toes had been chopped off and replaced with blocks of ice. Inside the diner was warm enough but the thaw hadn't spread yet except to send tiny uncomfortable prickles of sensation.

It didn't help that Sam was watching him like a hawk. If he gave any sign of being cold, he couldn't put it past Sam to wrap him up in a blanket, toss him over his shoulder and lock him up in the motel room again. He peered at the diner menu, trying to find anything on it that didn't make his stomach roil. So far everything seemed to consist of grease or fat and while Dean usually considered those the two main food groups, his post-flu stomach wasn't keen.

Dean thought that Sam was deliberately trying to provoke him as Sam ordered the big bite breakfast. Sam wasn't a huge health freak but he usually tried to order the less cholesterol-packed option. When the cute waitress turned to Dean, he scrabbled to find anything on the menu that wasn't going to be upchucked minutes later.

Sam tilted his head up to the waitress, the curl of a smile loitering on his lips. "My brother's not feeling very well. He's got a poorly tummy."

Dean lifted his head up from the menu to glower at his brother though he felt it would have been more effective if he could have opened his eyes fully.

The waitress didn't seem to mind. Her blue eyes softened as she looked down at Dean, "Aw. Poor honey. I'll tell you what'll soothe your stomach. Cook does a wonderful chicken and chilli soup."

Dean took a moment to consult his stomach but it didn't raise any major objections to the idea. "That sounds great. It won't put the cook out too much?"

The waitress shook her head, auburn curls swishing from side to side, "It's 'flu season, been especially this year. Cook has a pot on the go all the time. You want toast or a roll?"

Dean felt a troubled rumble in his belly which let him know bread of any sort wouldn't go down well. He knew Sam favoured rolls and he figured his brother would need something to mop up runny eggs so he opted for that.

The waitress smiled at them and headed off into the kitchen.

Dean turned towards Sam, half-expecting a lecture. Instead he had his head resting in his hands, thumbs rubbing at his temple. A momentary stab of guilt ran through Dean, he knew Sam hadn't got much sleep while he'd been watching over Dean. "Y'okay Sammy?"

Sam's head lifted straight up and he swiped briefly across his eyes, "I'm fine. Just a bit tired. Nothing some coffee won't cure." He lifted up his mug and Dean did likewise only to have the mug cruelly taken away from him. "Uh-uh. No coffee until you are well. Stimulants might exacerbate or hide symptoms."

Dean barely suppressed a whimper. Between fever dreams and Sam's over-anxious wakings, he hadn't got that much actual sleep himself. His throat was feeling raw so he reluctantly grabbed the water glass, inspecting the liquid inside first to make sure there were no nasty things within, then took a sip. Gulping hurt more than he thought it would. "So, what's the monster we're looking for here anyway? I mean, we did come here for a monster, right?"

Sam seemed to wait a long time before he nodded, "Yes. Fortunately you only broke out into full passing-out fever shortly before we reached our actual destination. Unfortunately between trying to stop you sneaking out of the room to chase invisible bugs and trying to keep your fever below volcano heat, I haven't had a chance to investigate much."

Dean took another sip of water, his throat less sore this time. "What do we know about the victims so far?" At Sam's querulous look, he added, "I know you might have told me before but my memory is a little patchy after the last few days." As the surprise shifted to worry, Dean hastily qualified, "But I'm better now."

Sam took on a patient expression, "There's been four victims so far, all men in their early twenties. It looked like they were struck down with flu-like symptoms then seizures. All of them were dead within four hours of first onset of symptoms."

"Huh," Dean said, mulling that over. "So when I got sick…"

"Yeah," Sam said, staring down into his mug of coffee. "But, well, you didn't die." He twisted his wrist, swirling the coffee around and around, finally bringing it up to his mouth for a loud gulp, deliberately avoiding Dean's eyes.

Dean tapped his finger on the glass, running a rhythm up and down. "The waitress, Bonnie, said there was a lot of sick people around. You think it's all something supernatural or is the monster using the flu epidemic as a cover?"

"I don't know," Sam answered. Any further speculation was cut off as the waitress arrived with their food. Sam's plate practically glistened from the slick surface of the eggs, salt-encrusted rough on the fries, the taut skins on the sausage right down to the thick warmth of the wrinkled tomatoes.

Dean's lunch didn't look that appetising either. It was thick and pale brown, sprinkled with tiny islands of chilli. A side plate held a freshly cooked baguette, steam rising up off it. Dean hesitantly picked up his spoon and dipped it shallowly into the liquid. He lifted it up to his mouth, watching bits of soup gloop down from the bottom. He blew gently over the surface then took a sip. The chilli fire burnt his throat at first but then it spread a pleasant numbness downwards. "Pretty good," He told the waitress.

Sam looked less keen on his food, prodding each part of it with his fork just in case it jumped up and bit him. He settled for prodding the tomato which oozed its seeds outwards. Apparently that was enough to put him off it, shifting the fork around again and mixing up the ingredients.

Dean focused on pouring another spoonful of soup down his throat, shivering a little as the heat seemed to spread outwards, chasing away the last tingles from his toes. The waitress was apparently satisfied enough as she moved off to help out at another table. "Any idea what could be doing this?"

"From the victims, I'd guess woman in white but they don't tend to make people sick."

The last dregs of chicken and chilli soup went down like a treat, settling Dean's stomach. He peered over at Sam's plate which was still crowded with the contents of a deep fat fryer. He reached across digging his fork into a chip however halfway to his mouth, his stomach gave a gurgle of displeasure and he put it back down on the bowl.

"You done?" Sam asked as if it wasn't readily apparent.

"You not going to eat that?"

Sam shook his head, "I had a bit. It's not exactly my type of food."

Dean couldn't help but smirk, Sam's fiendish plan to plague his fragile stomach backfiring on him. "Fair enough. Let's go." He stood up, drinking down the last glugs of water.

Sam slid out from the bench seat, standing straight then wavering suddenly, one hand gripping onto the seat back.

Dean frowned, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Sam waved him off. "Just stood up too quickly. Over-tired and all."

Dean shrugged, "I guess you are too tall. Come on, let's check out the site of the last victim."

"Dean," Sam almost growled. "You said you'd sleep."

Dean smirked over at his brother, "I lied. Come on."

"""""

_Now_

Dean stood again, pacing to the motel room sink and filling a glass up with water before bringing it back to Sam's bedside. "Come on, Sammy. You need to sit up for me, you got to drink something." Dean pushed his arm behind Sam's back, trying to prop his brother up enough. Sam's head lolled almost boneless on his neck until Dean used his free hand to support it, using the other hand to bring the water up to half-parted lips.

Tilting the glass only resulted in liquid spilling down Sam's chin and bubbling murmurs of protest. "Sam, I need you to drink this. You are dehydrated and you need to drink." Dean tipped the glass again. This time he leant Sam's head back and a little of the water ran down his throat, setting the muscles there into a convulsive half-cough. "That's it, Sam. Come on. You gotta beat this thing. Just hang on, okay."

Dean gently settled his brother back down into the blankets, tucking them back up to his chin again like he was five years old and got his first ouchie. "We left the diner and you insisted on driving. Just so you know, I'm not taking all the blame here, that would have been a great time to mention the whole feeling like crap deal."

Dean perched on the edge of the bed where he could keep an eye out for any sign of improvement, cupping his hand around the coffee, scalding his fingers on the hot ceramic. Eventually he took a couple of gulps, waiting for the caffeine buzz to flood his system and drag him back towards wakefulness.

"It took about an hour to get to where the most recent victim collapsed. You thought the EMF might tell us something about what we were looking for whether it was ghost or demon or, I dunno, something else from a glued together page of Dad's journal." Dean paused, fortifying himself with more coffee. "So we got there and that was pretty much when everything went to hell."

"""""

_Three hours earlier_

"EMF saying anything?" Sam called over from where he was searching. The last victim had collapsed on the shores of the local lake, just a few hours after his mother had first reported him looking a little peaky. His girlfriend had called an ambulance but Mark Hayden had been dead before it got there.

"Big fat nothing," Dean responded. "I think we can rule out spook. So what does that leave us with?"

"Hello?" A wisp weak voice called from nearby. Dean turned his head to see a girl walking over. "I got lost, can you help me find my home?"

Dean glanced across to Sam, arching one eyebrow up in speculation. The girl was unhealthily pale, her chalk-white skin had an almost powdery aspect to it. Her shoulder-length hair was one tone yellower than white. A long, dark-blue dress only served to make her complexion more sallow but there was a strange marking on the bodice and the sleeves.

Basically everything screamed someone definitely not right.

There was motion on the edge of Dean's vision and he watched as Sam gestured down from three. On three, Dean brought his gun to bear, pointing straight at the girl, "Who the fuck are you?" Sam mirrored his position.

The girl threw her head back and laughed. Just like that her humanity sloughed away, leaving a wizened hag, death's head blazoned on her forehead. "Oh boys, you are spoiling my fun." She peeled back white lips, revealing long incisors.

"Vampire?" Dean said, though his comment was more towards Sam.

The girl hissed, "I am not some weak vampire, born on blood. I am born of battle, born of loss, born of power."

"Civatateo," Sam more breathed out the word than spoke it.

The girl smiled, her head twisting to one side. "Smart boy but I don't think that is going to save you."

Dean instinctively moved in front of his brother, not caring for the moment that he was blocking the line of fire. "Come near my brother and I'll kill you."

"Dean, get out of my way," Sam muttered from behind him, his voice softer than normal.

The girl laughed again, the sound was really beginning to grate on Dean's nerves. "Oh, sweetie. I don't need to do anything to your brother, at least not anything else."

"Dean," There was an unusually weak note in Sam's voice and Dean half-turned to keep his brother in his line of sight without taking the aim off the girl. "Dean, I don't feel so good." Just like that Sam's eyes rolled back into his skull and he tumbled backwards to the ground, tremors and shudders running through his limbs.

Dean took a few steps backwards, keeping a steady aim as he crouched over his fallen brother, "Sam? Sam?! Don't do this. Get up. Stop that." Sam's limbs just spasmed outwards, one slamming into his ankle and almost bringing him down. "Stop whatever you are doing, bitch."

The Civatateo shook her head, "I'm not doing anything. I start it, how it finishes? Well, that's news to me too." She crouched downwards, a movement too fluid for her withered shape, "It's not looking good for your boy."

It was like a volcano erupted in Dean's head, molten lava flowing down his body and surrounding every part of him. He raised the gun and emptied the clip into the Civatateo. Its body jolted with every bullet but it wavered in place. "You can kill me," it croaked in a voice of death, "but your brother is going to die." It tumbled backwards, becoming a desiccated corpse by the time it hit the ground.

Dean didn't take time watching it, just crab-walked to where his brother was lying, limbs still. He pressed cold fingers to the pulse point in Sam's neck, waiting an anxious moment until he felt the steady beat thudding against his fingertips.

"Okay, Sasquatch, up you get." Dean grabbed Sam's hand and tried to haul him upwards, slinging his arm across his own shoulders and trying to support the dead weight. "Wake up, Sammy. I can't carry you."

Sam opened up bleary eyes, sucking in a rattling breath. "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sammy. Come on, walkies. Got to get back to the car. One foot in front of the other." Dean surged forward, trying to get his brother to catch up. It took an eternity to get back to the waiting Impala, Sam flickering in and out of consciousness like a faulty street lamp. He tucked Sam into the passenger seat then skidded around to the driver's side, putting pedal to the metal for the rush back to the motel room.

By the time they got back to the motel, Sam wasn't conscious at all.

""""

_Now_

"So are you going to let some woman in white hopped up on tequila beat you?" Dean asked, re-dipping the cloth in a motion that had become almost second nature in the hours since they had got back. "I've looked up all about the Civatateo, there has to be a way to beat this sickness. Winchesters don't die of the 'flu, Sammy."

He placed the cloth back on Sam's forehead, the fabric seeming to warm instantly from the heat radiating off. "Why didn't you tell me you were feeling crappy earlier, huh? I could have done something, extra time to call Bobby, maybe he would have been in this time." Dean squeezed out the cloth one more time, placing it newly damped back in place before sliding off the bed and beginning to pace.

"You know what? This is so typical of you. You couldn't let me just be ill, could you? You had to go one up and try dying. Is this paying me back for selling my soul? Hey Dean, I just rendered the whole condemning yourself to an eternity of burning and being tortured moot by going ahead and dying of the sniffles." Dean was aware that he wasn't making that much sense at that moment in time.

Dean sauntered back to the bed and re-wetted the cloth on Sam's head. Just as he did, Sam's dry lips parted and a whuff of breath escaped. "Sam?" Dean wiped the cloth across Sam's brow again. "Come on, waking up now would be good."

"Duh?" The voice was cracked and weak but it was the best thing Dean'd heard all week. Sam's tongue slipped out, licking cracked lips and Dean hurriedly scooped up the water glass, supporting Sam's head so he could drink. He only managed a few sips before Sam turned his head aside, water running down his cheek. "Dean?"

"Right here, little brother. You gave me one helluva scare, you've got to stop doing that."

"Sorry," Sam said with the slightly off tone of someone not quite sure what he was apologising for.

Sam's head started to loll to one side and Dean lightly slapped the side of his face, "Stay awake."

"S'monster dead?" Sam slurred, his eyes slowly opening revealing slits of hazel.

"Yeah, Civatateo bitch is a husky ruin," Dean reassured. "But it turns out her nasty illness spreading thing doesn't expire with her."

"Oh, am I gonna die?" Sam asked in his small boy voice.

Dean shook his head, "Of course not. I think you are over the worst. How are you feeling?"

Sam let out a noise halfway between a whine and a groan, stuttering off into a whimper.

"That good, eh?" Dean patted Sam's shoulder then tugged the blanket up. "See, bet you wish you'd given me more sympathy when I was sick."

Sam grumbled softly and rolled onto his side away from Dean. Dean figured if he was brother was up to ignoring him then he was on the road to recovery.

""""

_Half a day later._

"So, you swear the remains were out here?" Sam was still a little shaky on his feet and Dean couldn't help but hover close by in case he took a tumble.

Dean nodded, "Don't you remember? The civatateo came from over there to here, did the whole evil quip thing then you passed out."

Sam shuddered, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. "Not really. It's all a little fuzzy. I had the weirdest dreams while I was out." At Dean's tilted eyebrow, Sam wrinkled his nose, "It was like I was seeing the civatateo if she wasn't all pale. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin…"

"Okay, enough," Dean hastily cut his brother off. "You know I thought all that moaning and groaning you were doing was because of the fever!"

"It was," Sam hissed, his face telling another story as it flushed crimson. "I just thought it'd be a useful note for the journal, about the side effects of them."

Dean laughed, "Already in there. I read up on them while you were out. The civatateo frequently leads men to sexual deviancy."

Sam glowered, full on offended little brother, "You knew that and you let me talk on like I was the weird one?"

Dean shrugged, "Hey, you made me scared that you were going to die, this is just payback."

Sam's mouth opened and closed in amazement at Dean's wonderful logic, at least that is what Dean figured. Finally he spoke, "So, that corpse?"

Dean looked around, they should have stumbled across the body by now. "It was here."

"Do you think she can resurrect?" Sam asked and Dean was sure he heard a mild tremor in the voice.

Dean shook his head, "There was nothing in all the reading I did about that." Dean held a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the glare of the sun which is exactly when he caught sight of the bones' fate. "Erm, Sam?" he pointed down towards the lake.

Just on the edge of the shore was a dark-furred mongrel who obviously felt his lucky day had come as he gnawed on a long femur, tendrils of dried flesh clinging to the ends.

"Huh, guess we don't need to worry," Sam said with a smile.

"Great," Dean said. "Now how about we head back to the diner with that cute waitress. I think I'd like the breakfast special with extra grease."

Sam groaned, rubbing a hand on his stomach, "I hate you so very, very much."

**The End**

**Prompts**

- Civatateo

- The 'flu

- Dog chewing on bones


End file.
